When Death Comes Call'n
by Redrose999
Summary: When Hilde loses her job, she thinks her life can't get any worse. That is, until a certain God of Death shows up on her door step.
1. Chapter 1

When Death Comes A Call'n

Or...

Duo, Why Are There Bodies In My Closet?

By Red Rose

Hilde

It was nine o'clock and I sat in front of my television, watching, or not watching, the blurs of color dance across the screen and feeling the stresses of a long, humiliating day drain away from my weary limbs.

Today, I lost my job, career and promise of a long and stable future with the Oz military division.

The court martial proceedings took most of the time. Oz had a way of turning everything into a ritual and when they let me go, they did it with lots of speeches and arm waving. I suppose I was lucky I wasn't sent to prison for what I did, but then again, I had family in high places and my father was able to convince the officials involved in the matter that I cracked after months of strain due to the war.

The war.

In a way I was thankful. I hated my job as an Oz Academy officer(fancy name for MP). I just did it to satisfy my parents and my heart wasn't really in it. If I had a choice, I would have chosen the more conventional job of police officer and dealt with L2's local sludge. But with martial law, police were soldiers and so, my career took a left hand turn, one in which my parents were very fond of.

In the end, it was a job I planned to quit after the war and use the experience in local law enforcement.

That was shot to hell, now.

I sighed in frustration and grabbed the TV remote. For twenty meaningless minutes, I channel surfed.

There wasn't even a good episode of Captain Zion...

Life sucked.

So did the war.

And I was without a job.

Who would hire an ex Oz MP? One who couldn't even get out of the training academy without breaking the loyalty codes.

Well, at least I would no longer have to battle with my conscience concerning my job. I supposed I lost my enthusiasm with being a soldier after having to gas rioters outside of the academy last month. Most of them were students and the officials thought some were armed. Our commanding officer thought it would be good training for the senior class to repress the riot in a neat and orderly fashion.

I cringed just as I switched on an image from a newscast. A field of bodies lay scattered over the screen as a woman cheerfully announced a devastating death toll with the surrender of the supposed enemy.

I bit my lip recalling myself wading though the crowd of young people with guns and gas bombs.

They were panicked and fighting broke out. In the end, fifty kids died and the seniors hauled off the rest to prisons, never be heard from again.

I didn't recall ever finding the supposed weapons rumored to be in the crowd.

I killed seven men that day, and never forgave myself for it.

The officer in charge knew it was a blood bath, but quickly repressed the information so the official story was in favor of the heroic class and their quick thinking commanding officer. He got a promotion, I got a job at the academy and a medal for leading my recruits to victory.

It was then, I realized there was something wrong with the people I was working with.

I had sympathy for the colonies and their revolution, but never had the guts to let my parents know or leave the job that was destroying me. Instead, I convinced myself I was being a good cop (or officer) and helping those around me by maintaining peace.

That was until I met him...

My mind's eye imaged a boy with long light brown hair and deep violet eyes. His face was sad and drawn with a darkness and burden I could only imagine. Yet somehow, the young man was idealistic, charming and rather rough around the edges. I took a liking to him instantly.

He was one of the only honest people I had met in my life.

An honest thief. I supposed it was my destiny to get tangled up in the life of the kind of criminals I swore to protect the world from. But he made me realize I was the criminal. Ok, he was a POW and I should have turned him in. But it was true, my blindness and the blindness of my colleagues had made people like him.

Don't ask me why.

I let him get the best of me and escape.

Simple enough. I believed in what he was fighting for.

I too was a rebel at heart. The old regime had to fall. He gave me the courage to do it.

I shrugged and kicked my feet up on the table, wondering what I could do to remedy my unemployed situation.

Assisting a rebel spy didn't look good on a resume, even if it was momentary insanity.

After all, he was a child... And I didn't kill children...

Not after the student rebellion. Never again.

I took a good long swig of my Jack Daniels and stared at the golden liquid swirling in the bottle. "Hilde Shernberker, you are a fuck up. I don't care if he was cute. You fucked up... Helping spies is no way to meet men."

Hmm, and what did I get in return? He vanished into the sunset, smile and all. Most likely he's murdering more Oz officers (guys I probably recruited) or even stealing weapons...

Did I care?

Not really, but I wished him well. You don't meet many honest criminals these days.

Well, I could never be a police officer now.

I placed the bottle down with a thump and listened to the clatter echo through the room. "I was lucky there were no witnesses left alive... If they knew what really happened, they'd kill you. Damn." It was all true. I did lie to them. I said I couldn't kill him and let him escape.

I lied about betraying my fellow officers and murdering them in an attempt to assist my young rebel. I claimed he killed them and the inquiry believed me. After all, I was a general's daughter. Why would she lie?

I hated bureaucracy.

Why?

"That's right, Hilde. Why?" I asked out loud.

The phone rang and I stared at it, wondering if I should bother answering it. It was mother no doubt, calling to comfort me and nag me for getting soft. They had a host of psychiatrists to examine me. All I needed to do was to go home and declare myself and my life a failure.

"Hilde, it's mom. Your father and I are very worried. We love you sooo..." The voice droned.

Yes, I've heard all this before, I thought drunkenly. I love you too mom, but I'm afraid I can't lie to you anymore... I'd pretend I wasn't home and hope she'd hang up.

She did, after three minutes of begging. It was very unlike me to ignore anyone. In fact, I was often the perky sort who loved chattering and having a good time.

Well, that was, when my life was organized.

"Damn you, Duo Maxwell... I don't know whether to thank or kill you..."

The door buzzed.

I side glanced it and wondered if I should risk answering it in my drunken state. With my luck it was more MP's coming to question me about the spy Maxwell. Sadly, in my state, I'd tell them to fuck themselves with smile.

The buzzing didn't go away.

It couldn't possibly be my parents. They were on a trip to L1 and not due back for three weeks.

What the hell.

I stood up and stumbled my way though the house, dropping the bottle on my kitchen table. I was permanently off duty and didn't care what anyone thought if they saw me drowning my misery.

With a heave, I opened the door. "You realize there is a curfew..." I began.

It was him.

Large, beautiful violet eyes stared back at me and a tangle of long brown hair hung down around his heart shaped face. He gave me a wise-assed smile, brushed the hair from his features and pulled a black cap over his eyes. "Sorry Miss, I don't mean to intrude." He began, looking around nervously. "They won't look for me here."

It was raining and cold out. He pulled his blue jacket closer to him and cradled his gut gingerly. "Please..."

I swallowed. I didn't live on the military base. I deliberately chose not to. But, he seemed to be taking a risk coming here.

"You've done enough, haven't you?" I said, stepping to the side. I was too drunk to care and let him cross the threshold. Something about his walk disturbed me. It was labored with a slight limp. A limp I noted when I first met him, but this time it seemed worse.

"Ahhh, I guess not enough ma'am, but I appreciate your kindness. There are very few kind people in a world gone mad." He removed his hat and fumbled it. It splattered on the floor, pooling a puddle of wet at his feet.

Honest to the end, he knew he was trouble. "Don't you have friends?" I asked, closing the door. What the hell was I doing? Shouldn't I be calling the MPs? What if they saw him? We'd both roast in prison!

He shook his head, worn features pale. "No one I trust." He answered weakly. "You can call the cops, or you can let me stay the night... I'll be out of you're hair in the morn."

I bit my lip, tasting salt. He was damned pathetic. I felt my heart wrench. "In the morning?"

He shivered and reached for his hat. Then grabbed for the back of a chair as he slipped to his knees.

Diluted crimson spilled from his garments and reddened my linoleum.

He was hurt far more than he wanted to admit.

I thought of the demonstration outside the academy and the students bathing in their own blood.

Instinctively I wrapped an arm around him and helped him to stand. "Let's get you cleaned up. We'll discuss it later." I said hurriedly. "I'll ignore the fact you cost me my career."

He weakly smiled through half closed eyes and pressed his dripping head against my shoulder. "Much obliged, Ma'am..."

Seconds later, he went limp.

I hauled his dead weight to the guest room, and tried not to think of the treason I was committing. I peeled him out of his clothing, leaving only a silver crucifix dangling around his neck. The stuff was caked with dried blood and filth.

So, I quickly dropped them down the laundry shoot and gave him a quick and painless sponge bath. He was so exhausted, he didn't seem to noticed and only twitched once when I cleaned out and re-wrapped his wounds.

Indeed, he was a mess. His ribs were broken and from the pattern of bruises around his shoulders and torso, I deduced the injuries were obtained during non-stop mobile suit combat. I also discovered signs of physical abuse, beatings and other atrocities only obtained in a rather brutal interrogation.

I was particularly taken by the gunshot wound in his abdomen. Apparently, he had dressed it shortly after he had received it. Then tore it open within the last twenty-four hours.

Oz certainly couldn't have done this to the boy, or so I wanted to think. Yet, in reality, I knew such abuse wasn't unheard of.

Track marks lined his forearms, telling me he had been out in the streets before the war. There were others signs as well, but I refused to imagine from what, for they were too horrid for anyone to picture.

I felt more pity for the poor soul laying in my bed now than I had for anyone else in my life. Even myself. whoever this Duo Maxwell was, he lived in a hell, and survived intact enough to remain unusually honest. I admired him for his bravery, and hated myself for hiding in my delusions.

When I finished, I tucked him away under crisp clean sheets and warm blankets. My fears told he was feverish and needed to be kept warm.

He wouldn't be leaving tomorrow, as he said. I was sure of that.


	2. Chapter 2

I didn't sleep that night. Instead, I remained at his side, monitoring his condition, in fear he'd take a turn for the worse and die alone in my guest room.

None deserved to die alone and for reasons I couldn't explain, I knew being alone was Mr. Maxwell's worst fear.

So, I sat at his side, reading a particularly sleazy romance about Scottish highlanders in kilts to myself. At the time, I chose the books based solely on their covers; strong looking sun tanned men wearing green and red plaid kilts and revealing their well muscle toned legs. I never really took notice of the women they were entangled with.

I suppose I was never interested in the women because I was nothing like them. I was short with small but perky breasts (I always wondered what those broads did to keep their breasts from sagging). I didn't have many curves, nor was I extremely attractive (or at least I assumed so, because I sucked in the boy department and was often accused of being a lesbian). My hair was an ugly muted black and had a mind of its own. It stood up

in directions I despised, so I eventually gave up the battle and ceased fussing with it.

The thing I hated the most about myself was my voice. It was high and squeaky and made it so most people failed to take me seriously. It frustrated me to no end, especially since, as a cop or MP, you had to do lots of shouting to impress people...

Unfortunately, my best piss ass voice sounded like a hyper mouse on helium.

My mother of course, tells me all the time I'm cute and should play on it. Someday, Romeo will come and sweep me off my feet...

I'm still waiting. The only thing Romeo has done is swept the rug out from underneath my feet and date the tall lanky blond with the triple D bust and perfect hour glass figure.

*Sigh.* Life knows how to hit you in the worse of ways.

I looked down at the sleeping boy and wondered what kind of life he led. When sleeping, he appeared troubled yet innocent of all crime. I hardly believed he was responsible for terrorist acts that nearly destroyed Oz's moon base.

In a funny sort of way, I imagined him as my long awaited Romeo.

Bull. Guys like him (reasonably attractive, adventurous, rugged, polite...and dangerous) would never settle down with an ugly mousy duck like me.

But it was still fun thinking about it.

He moaned weakly, turning my thoughts to his health. Gingerly, I touched his forehead, noting the fever was down some and he was falling into a deeper, though fitful, sleep. I sighed in relief, glad he was showing signs of recovery. God only knows how I'd explain the corpse in my guest room to the authorities. Then again, I suppose I could chop him into little pieces and flush him down the toilet...

I winced at the thought. Sometimes my sick imagination got the best of me.

As expected, Mr. Maxwell awoke roughly eighteen hours after his arrival. By then, I had gone though three paperbacks and an entire bottle of gin. Time flies when you're mourning your lack of love life.

I was stone drunk.

Looking at the stirring youth, I felt strangely like one of my books' heroines. After all, those who read bad romance novels tend to have no romance in their lives and only can wish...

His face was pale, and he had developed a faint red rash where his crucifix dangled against his bare skin. Weakness gripped every one of his movements, but he still managed a bright smile, pleased to see I was at his side.

"Hey, bet you're hungry." I said smiling.

He painfully stretched, then lifted himself into a semi sitting position. One hand scratched the red rash around his neck absently. "Starved."

"Can tell. You're a rail." I replied, scanning his thin form. "What are they feeding you guys?"

"I haven't had much time to eat, ma'am." He answered after some consideration. He lifted a hand and ran it though his long tangled hair.

I watched the rivulets of minute waves as they cascaded down his back and pooled around his muscle toned form. It was the hair I always wished to have. I was envious. I held my tongue though; it wasn't very polite to ogle at one's guests. Then again, as drunk as I was, I couldn't help but ogle. "Then, let me get you something. "

"No, no need miss." He waved a hand and painfully swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Promised you I'd be out of your hair in the morn, and I intend on keeping my promises." With effort wrinkling his brow, Mr. Maxwell clambered to his feet.

I folded my arms patiently and watched him sway and scramble for the support of my chair as his legs gave.

Swiftly, I caught him and eased his arm around my shoulder. "You're not going anywhere, except perhaps to the bathroom, Mr. Maxwell, and, I'm sorry to say, you'd faint before you got to the toilet in time."

Large, startled, blue-violet eyes stared back at me, making my face warm. I easily guessed my choice of words startled him. Ladies in our society didn't speak with crudities, but I was sick of being Miss meek. I didn't care my inhibitions were down.

"Miss, I don't want to get you in trouble." He insisted as I shuffled him off to the toilet.

"No trouble at all." I said gently. Within moments, we were in my small, box-like bathroom. I positioned him in front of the toilet and, when sure he was capable of standing long enough to remove his shorts, left him to his vices. "I don't put strays out in the street, especially cute ones who got me fired." Good heaven, what were you saying girl? My face feverishly warmed in disbelief at my own words. The booze and lack of discretion must have really gone to my head. Normally, I was never this outspoken. "Now, I'll trust you can take care of yourself."

He side-glanced me, his face worried, then fumbled at his boxers as I closed the door.

"Ahhh, Miss?" His voice called from behind the door. "My clothes... This is hardly proper for a lady to see..."

I sighed and shook my head, thinking of his blood caked, mud ridden garments. "I need to mend them, Mr. Maxwell, but I might have something in your size."

There was a long pause and I could hear him shuffling around. A second later, the door opened and a face veiled with long dark flaxen brown strands peered out. He looked me over, gaze intense as he sized me up. "You're a little small, aren't you?"

I shrugged, embarrassed. "Small, with a fascination for large men's clothes. My mom says I don't have very good garment sense."

"Uh...lesbian?" He asked awkwardly. It wasn't a question one would normally ask in proper society, but unfortunately I had heard it too many times.

"No, hopeless romantic. How about you?" I walked over to a nearby closet and rummaged through it. I often frequented second hand stores and loved oversized men's shirts, especially the warm woolly lumberjack sort. They often dangled to my knees and he was only a little taller than I was, so I couldn't imagine it not fitting him.

He gratefully took the green and black plaid garment and donned it. "No pants?"

"None that'll fit. Sorry, but that shirt should cover up what's important." I replied. "You didn't answer my question."

He looked down, face paler than before. "I didn't mean to offend you, miss."

I brushed my hand through my stubby black bangs. "It's just something I'm sick of hearing, that's all. They always teased me in school about it."

Awkwardly, he nodded, then leaned into the door frame, spent. "Hmph, funny. I was always accused of being a homosexual..." He grabbed a lock of hair and waved it in my face. "Hair you know. Guys just don't have this much hair. It was hell on the streets."

"Then why continue to grow it?" I asked. I looped my arm around him once more and helped him to his bed.

Thankfully, he collapsed back onto the mattress. "Principle, I guess. My hair is important to me and I refuse to change it because of other people. It was the only thing I could control in my life."

"HMO." I sat next to him, looking down at his features. "I've always walked to the beat of a different drum myself. But, I could never control my hair. So I cut it, to the chagrin of everyone around me."

"Must have been lots of chagrin." He said.

"Indeed, Mr. Maxwell." I stared at him for another long moment, then eyed the redness around his neck. I'd forgotten to ask him about it, realizing it might have to do with the infection he had contracted and shouldn't be dismissed. "Does it itch?"

He tilted his head, then fingered the cross. "I wear it because it's from a mentor, but I have an allergy to silver. That's why it was tucked into my clothing and not against bare skin." He dropped his hand away, not really phased by the rash's discomfort. "No biggie. I'll live." He tucked the metal over his new shirt. "That is, if the wool of this shirt doesn't drive me insane."

I looked away, disturbed I caused him any discomfort. "I'm sorry, Mr. Maxwell..."

"Duo. Please call me Duo."

"All right Duo." He seemed to be dismissing the situation and I was grateful for it. I stood up once more, sure if I remained sitting at his side, I'd say something we'd both regret. Instead, I played den mother and assisted him into a semi-sitting position, tucked in with blankets and pillows.

He was comfortable and absolutely adorable. I bit my lip, wondering what he thought of me.

Most likely he thought I was an idiot and a sucker.

In general, he was right, but he was still very nice to look at.

The boy just smiled up at me. "Hilde, isn't it?"

"Yes." I shifted, feeling uncomfortable. For the first time since I found him bleeding on my doorstep, I wondered if I'd regret taking him in when I was sober. What do you say to a rebel spy who, if you got caught, was offense enough to get you shot on sight. "Do you like eggs?"


	3. Chapter 3

He liked eggs. So, I made my way to the kitchen and made him a large meal. I wasn't a bad cook and he seemed to enjoy what I had prepared. Silently brooding, I watched the boy shovel in four eggs, five sausage links and three pieces of toast, then down twelve ounces of orange juice before he finished.

Wiping the corners of his mouth, he thanked me gratefully, then within seconds, dozed off into a deep sleep.

Wiped myself, I too took a deep snooze in the chair beside his bed.

Some time passed before I painfully became aware of myself, but when I did, my head ached miserably and my eyes stung from the flood of sunlight peeking though the guest room curtains.

To my surprise, I lay stretched out in the bed, alone and blankets pulled over my aching form. Still, it took me awhile to orient myself and navigate my thoughts though the muddled hang over gripping my brain.

I never drank.

Never, ever, drank. And from the way I felt now, I'd never ever do it again.

Everything ached. My eyes, my limbs, my brain, even my skin, felt icky and crawly with lumpy, thumpy pulses of alcohol poisoning.

After several moments of lying motionless, I managed the power to muster enough strength to move.

The pain grew with every inch I made, then faded to a faint thud by the time I was standing.

I needed a tall glass of water and lots of aspirin.

Then, I'd face the lost puppy I foolishly took in the other night.

I visited the ladies' room, swallowed six pills and downed them with three glasses of water. I then showered quickly and dressed, unable to face any man looking and smelling like a still. Part of me hoped he'd been so turned off by my state that he left without a good bye. The other part of me hoped he stayed. In a way, I did want to help him get well. Then I'd send him on his way. I had no interest in the war or whatever causes he was involved in.

I needed to get my life together before I plunged head long into trouble. Besides, my father was a general and a supporter of Romefeller. I'd be an idiot to get involved in a civil war of sorts.

After a great deal of preparation, I set off toward the kitchen, ready for my coffee.

The smell of toast and eggs floated in the air, making my mouth water before I stepped into the room.

Duo was there, dressed in another flannel shirt, this one covering well past his thighs, and a long, rope-like braid dangling over his rump. The table was set with a fresh cup of coffee, buttered toast, jam and a side dish of hash browns.

He motioned me to sit down, then slid two eggs, sunny side up, onto my plate.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Was all I managed as I seated myself.

He limped around the table, sat down at a place setting across from me and gave a devilish smile. "Making you breakfast, Miss. What does it look like?"

Instinctively, I reached over, placing my fingers on his forehead. It was mildly warm, telling me he still had a low-grade fever.

"You should be resting." I declared.

He shrugged thoughtfully. "It was the only way I could think of to thank you."

My face warmed and I looked down unable to meet his stare. I didn't deserve, nor was I used to, being pampered. "You didn't have to."

His smile faltered some, but his gaze remained soft and gentle. "Yes, I did." His fingers closed about a half-empty coffee cup and lifted the milk light liquid to his lips. "After I messed up your life... Hell, I owe you a hell of a lot more. Sorry just ain't gonna cut it, miss."

"Hilde, please." I thought we had gotten past the formalities, or was he attempting to start over since I was so drunk the night he showed up. I weakly returned his smile and sampled the eggs and Canadian bacon on my plate. "Very good."

He looked down into his coffee mug. "Thanks. I'm not much of a cook, you know. Never had enough food to do it."

I swallowed the savory smoked ham hard and stared up at him. At first I wondered if he was trying to win my sympathy, but realized he had stated it as a simple fact. "Poor?"

He shook his head. "When I was a kid, yeah. Orphan." He placed his cup down and folded his arms on the table. Stiffly, he leaned on them and met my gaze. "Let's not talk about me. You don't need to know a sob story. It's in the past. I think I've preached to you enough."

He was referring to his successful attempt of talking me into supporting his cause when I was interrogating him. I shook my head, almost fond of the memory. He was charming, yet brutally to the point. I supposed it was his smile and grim seriousness that won me over to his side.

Or, was it the demonstration at the academy? Both, I guess. In the end, he was right. Oz and the Federation were repressing good people, making them into criminals, like him. He was a victim of hate and war. "That you did, Duo, have I thanked you for it yet?"

"Thanked?" Puzzled, he blinked. "Miss, I conned you." He waved a hand as if attempting to clear the air. "You lost your job."

I sighed and leaned over the table, so our noses nearly touched. "It's only a con if you lied, and you didn't lie, Mr. Duo Maxwell. You gave me the courage to do something I didn't have the guts to do. I'm thankful for that."

Sitting back, Duo stared, disbelief lining his brow and mouth. "You mean...?"

I shrugged. "Yes. My job lost its meaning when I realized I was the bad guy. Now, if you don't mind, it would ease my conscience if you got a little more rest."

I was going to tell him to leave, but I couldn't. My sense of right and heart couldn't betray him, not after I realized how important his earlier words were to me. In a way, he gave me freedom. How could I kick him out after that?

"And after I get well?" He asked, standing. He grabbed a piece of toast and nibbled on its crust.

I brushed my hand though my hair, wondering what exactly I was going to do. "We'll play it by ear. Sound good to you?"

"I'm spontaneous." He smirked. He relaxed a great deal since he had arrived and I was pleased he dropped his formalities. I liked this side of Duo Maxwell. Not only was he polite, and a good cook, he was at ease with the unpredictability of life.

It a way, we were alike.

Too much alike.

Did this mean he was Romeo?

I scanned the long braid and lopsided smile fondly. He was trouble. That's what he was. Then again, I supposed I could work with him.

I was a cop, wasn't I? Wasn't it a cop's job to rehabilitate criminals, especially the cute ones with a cause?


	4. Chapter 4

It was a long day of pavement pounding and I was feeling the frustration and pressure of being out of work. My first unemployment check wasn't due for another two weeks and all I was surviving on was the "charity" of my beloved parents.

Rent was due, and I was too proud to give up and go home.

Besides, with Duo around, I'd have a great deal of explaining to do, so I avoided them.

Closing the door behind me, I entered my little house and searched around the kitchen for something to eat. As expected, Duo tossed something together and was cooking it in the oven. It looked like something with chicken. He was feeling better and was getting a little more elaborate with what he was making.

I didn't mind. After hours of walking, I was actually rather happy to find food waiting for me, even if it was made by a free loading spy.

How long had it been since he stumbled in on me? A week? It seemed much longer and I was reluctant to let him go, fearing his health would decline if faced with the uncertainty of a street kid's life. In fact, only now was he starting to show signs of health. With steady meals, he was overcoming the malnourished state he arrived in and working on healing his more serious wounds. Wounds that would have killed him if I had let him back out.

I was actually pleased I let him stay. Eager to find my guest, I searched about the house until I discovered him sitting in the living room, leaning over with his arms on his spread knees. On his lap was a blanket. The pallor had left his features and he was pink with health. Even his braided hair was shiny and brilliant with luster.

He'd be ready to go soon. Perhaps, we could remain friends.

"Hi." I said, standing in the door frame, eager to join him, but not wanting to disturb him.

He glanced away from the TV set and smiled broadly, then waved for me to enter. "Hi yourself! It's your house. Come on in."

With a nod, I entered, straying a glance to the images flickering on the TV. Mobile suits were clashing in conflict on a grassy field as a woman announcer spoke about the current status of the war. "Hmm, the news again. Can't get enough of that war, can you?" I declared, sitting on the arm of the couch beside him.

Grimly, he shook his head and sighed, then flicked off the TV with a remote. "Sick of it actually... I'm sick of death, I'm sick of killing...I just want to be free of it.

Unfortunately, the damned thing won't go away."

Sympathetic, I placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Duo."

"So am I." He took a long breath and tossed the remote to the end table in front of him. "Have you ever looked in the eyes of death?" He asked distantly. Haunted eyes peered through shaggy brown bangs.

For a moment, I thought of those glassy, unseeing eyes, masked with death's fog, staring up at me after the academy demonstration. In my position, I believed I had no other choice. The kid was supposed to be armed and motioned to pull something from his coat (or so I believed). I killed him in cold blood.

Yes, I had seen death, but it was very different when you were on the winning side. "You were a war orphan." I replied softly.

He nodded wordlessly.

"Then, no. Not like you have." Tentatively, I took his hand in my own and cupped it in my palms.

He didn't seem to mind the touch and gave me a heart filled squeeze. "Hey, kiddo, I was death for awhile." Fingers touched my face, and traced gently down my cheeks. "I don't want to fight. I don't want to be in the war anymore. I'm sick of being a pawn."

"Then don't." I said firmly. "No one's stopping you."

Ruefully, he chucked. "All this emotional bull doesn't get you a job, does it?"

"No, it doesn't, Duo."

Guilt washed over his face and he brushed his bangs from his eyes. He sincerely felt responsible for my current position and I could sense he wanted to do something about it. He looked away, consideration strong on his brow. "Well then, let's go into business together."

I barely knew him.

Let's go into business together...

Somehow, I imagined he'd ask for something other than a working relationship. A part of me was disappointed.

I stared at the long haired rebel and wondered what he was attempting to talk me into. Sex would have been so much easier.

Especially sex with him.

"The last time you sweet talked me into listening to your plans, I lost my job, Mr. Maxwell." I reminded suspiciously.

He waved it away, then leaned into the couch. "It's nothing illegal."

"Oh?" He said that as if he had walked the line between legalities before (well, besides being a terrorist and spy). I was very dubious. Yet, from the wide innocence in his gaze and the fond smile on his face, I sensed he meant well.

I rubbed my chin, weighing the trouble he could theoretically get me into.

A lot, but then again, I was already in plenty of trouble. How could things get worse?

It didn't hurt to listen. "It depends on your definition of illegal, Mr. 'I don't tell a lie'."

He became serious, then met my gaze, knowing I had called his bluff. "Salvage. In wartime, it's perfectly acceptable to scavenge on both sides and sell weapons. Hell, what do you think the big corps do?"

This was true, and being a small business, one could make a great deal of money and go virtually ignored.

"You were a sweeper." I said firmly, recalling my own morals and how they often dealt with the black market.

"It isn't a black market if they win the war." Duo explained sincerely.

A technicality. I loved how he managed to lie to himself without exactly lying. I shook my head. What was I getting into?

"No fighting, but you want to salvage weapons and sell it to the people you worked for?" I folded my arms, unconvinced. The boy was a revolutionary at heart. That was why I admired him so. "That isn't getting out of the war, Duo."

He shrugged. "They won't be our only clients. Think about it. That's all I ask."

I thought about it.

And thought about it.

Three weeks crawled by, and I still didn't have a job, but decided after my first unemployment check, that in light of our friendship (two odd balls in a world gone insane), Duo was definitely staying. We were both sick of the war and content enough with each other's company to decide it was in both of our best interests to stick together and weather whatever turbulence life tossed at us.

Moving to a new location was the first agenda at hand. Duo picked out a small place in a salvage yard at the other side of the colony. He spoke often of starting the salvage business and I gave up trying to object. After all, being a cop was now out of the question and my current company left me out of the security business. So, without much adieu, we moved and made a nice little home for ourselves.

The move was very quiet, so as not to clue in my parents. My mother was positive I was having a nervous breakdown and was ready to lock me up at any sign of instability. When moving day came, I mailed a quick, reassuring letter to her, then disappeared. I'd contact her after the war, once my life was together.

Inside, I knew her fears for my mental state were not unwarranted. Maybe I was having a nervous breakdown.

But an institution wasn't going to be my instant cure. Especially one they'd lock me up in.

Once Duo and I were settled, I wrote out a long contract with rules in bold ink for him to follow. The company was a go, but only if we'd kept to civilian clients and stayed out of the war. Duo seemed a little flustered by the agreement, but signed it.

In truth, I should have seen it.

He was a soldier at heart and wanted to help his allies in the war. It was rather cruel of me to push him into neutrality. But he claimed it was what he wanted and in the end he seemed content with it.

I certainly was.

I felt I saved his soul. After all, he was one less delinquent on the street.

A few weeks passed and our lives were starting to pick up. I ran the up front part of the business, making clients, dealing with money, and Duo of course obtained the salvage. He'd disappear for days, then out of the blue, bring in mobile suit parts, radar, computer and other useful equipment.

Mobile suits were in high demand among many of the civilian construction companies, so they quickly became our biggest clients. It brought money fast, though, not as much as it would have if we dealt with military or rebel clients.

It kept food on the table, which made me happy. In time, after the war, I knew our company would be in high demand, but for now, we were building a hell of a foundation.

It was a bright sunny Sunday morning when I first noticed them. I returned home from a long drawn out shopping trip and spied three men hovering near the gates of our salvage yard, speaking in low voices and looking around suspiciously at everything that moved. Their attention seemed particularly uneasy when looking at me.

I smiled pleasantly, nodding to them as I fumbled the keys to the door of my house. "Good afternoon." I announced in my best cheerful voice. "We're closed on Sunday. Come again tomorrow." I knew they weren't potential clients. They behaved too nervous for that, but decided to play stupid on the matter in fear of my life. Rebels didn't take well to ex Oz officers.

"Is Mr. Maxwell at home?" One of the fellows asked. He was tall with dark hair and had a long hawk-like face. He spoke gruffly and didn't seem the kind, gentle sort. Most of all, he didn't seem the sort of guy Duo would enjoy hanging out with. "I'm an old friend."

Old friend, eh? "Duo has many old friends. Many he'd rather not see anymore, Mr...?"

"Lance, JD Lance." The gentleman approached me, then handed me a business card.

I noted a gun tucked into his pants, concealed behind his lather jacket, but feigned ignorance. By the look in his buddies' eyes, I knew they were killers. The only reason they were tolerating me was Duo.

In their eyes, I was Duo's squeeze. Mess with me and they'd never get Mr. Maxwell to do them any favors. "Very well." I replied in my cheeriest, squeakiest voice. "I'll be more than happy to tell Duo you called. I bet he'll be delighted to see all of you..."

They glanced at each other as if I were the biggest bubble-head around, then smiled, just as I wanted. Ex-Oz officer or not, I was Duo's bed bunny and most likely a disgruntled, underpaid secretary who dropped Oz for a good screw.

Men never thought very much of women in this world. Especially gals like me.

I fumbled with my keys once more, balancing my groceries on my poised knee as I went, then pushed open the door. I caught the groceries in the nick of time and swiftly entered the house. Only after the door closed and I was safely concealed behind a curtain, did I dare look out the window for the three goons.

Sure enough, they were chuckling among themselves and walking away from the house.

With a heavy sigh, I pressed into the wall with realization dawning on me.

Duo was up to something, something his old buddies wanted to know about.

And most importantly, something underneath my little nose.

Feeling incredibly stupid, I crossed the kitchen to the table and began to silently unload my bag of groceries. I expected honesty from Mr. Maxwell, and since he never lied, I received it most of the time. However, he often avoided the truth and was almost never up front with me on how he obtained his salvage. Aware that I made him uncomfortable, I stopped asking. Foolish yes, but I didn't believe I had a choice in the matter and decided Duo would eventually come around to explaining things in his own time.

Perhaps I had him judged wrong.

With a sigh, I put away the food, and roamed around the house. Duo was nowhere in sight, but I wasn't surprised. He often disappeared, a drifter at heart, so I gave him his space, hoping that someday he'd trust me enough to tell me what he was really up to. The boy didn't need a baby sitter, he needed a friend who cared, and I was determined to be that friend.

Besides, from the life he described, he didn't need to have another person telling him how he should live his life.

Even if I wanted to save his soul.

"Mr. Maxwell." I said aloud, fingering the buttons of my jacket. "How can I keep the street safe from a cad like you, if I don't have sense enough to come out of the rain."

My jacket. I frowned, looking down at my trench coat. The thugs made me so nervous, I had forgotten to remove it when I came in. Without much thought, I shrugged the thing off and opened the coat closet.

In the distance, I heard the door open and Duo's familiar gait clatter across the kitchen floor. "Hilde!? Hilde?! Are you home?" He sounded breathless.

I smirked, thinking about his bright cheerful face as I parted the coats and reached for a hanger.

Two uniformed corpses lay like a stack of boxes on the floor of my closet, behind my long leather jacket and my former Oz uniform...

Bodies...two young men, both battered and bruised, and deader than door-nails...in my closet...

I heaved in a deep breath.

Duo was definitely hiding something from me.

I felt betrayed.

I turned on my heel to meet him nose to nose.

Large violet guilt filled eyes stared back at me.

My lips trembled on the verge of pure unadulterated rage.

"Duo..."

My Romeo was demon, a murder, a con man, a... "Duo Maxwell, why are there bodies in my closet?"

Innocently, he looked down and shuffled his feet, then peered up. "They were in the mobile suits I salvaged." He answered honestly. "And I didn't have time to dump them, so I had to bring them home. I'm sorry, Hilde."

That's why Mr. Lance wanted him. He was still working with them. He was fighting and unable to tell me in fear it would get me in trouble if he was caught.

Ignorance and a wealthy family would protect me. I licked my lips, feeling the tension from my anger slip away some. He cared. "You're crazy."

He reached over and closed the door behind me, nodding sadly. "Yes, I am. psychopath I think. Not very sure, only met one once. Yuy is the name, and they say it takes one to know one, so I reckon I'm crazier than a bedbug..." Cocking his head, the boy swirled his fingers near an ear to exemplify his point.

Speechless, I gaped, unable to process my next action. I should have called the cops and reported him.

He was a killer, pure and simple.

He hid things from me...

I bit my lip, tasting iron. "Leave."

Duo twitched and nodded. "Yes miss, I'll leave."

With that, I watched him turn away and walk to the door. A second later, he paused and looked back. Those lovely violet eyes were dead now, the eyes of a killer. "What do you want me to do with the bodies?"

"Jettison them." I said flatly. "And I never want to see you again."


	5. Chapter 5

Some time during the night, he removed the corpses, then returned my key to my kitchen table.

I wasn't afraid of him, of course. I was aware he'd never hurt me. Duo Maxwell wasn't a true sociopath. He only called himself that because he hated himself.

Still, I sat up all night, agonizing over my decision to toss him out. I was angry he deceived me and didn't want to be dragged into any business regarding fighting and the war, but in the end, I knew he couldn't escape it. His entire being was wrapped about hate, pain and fear. Duo Maxwell knew nothing more. So when I asked him to leave, he left with no argument. He knew he hurt me. He knew I had every right to send him away. Trust and friendship was very important to me.

Just like the war was important to him.

A war he didn't want to fight.

By sending him out, I gave him no other choice but to go to men like Mr. Lance.

They were rebels, yes, and their cause was, in my point of view, for freedom. But, in the same breath, to them, Duo Maxwell, pilot of the Death Scythe, was nothing more than a weapon to toss at the enemy.

A fifteen year old war toy, who'd never learn conscience and love because the saint who was determined to keep him off the streets tossed him out on his little ass...

The new bottle of Jack Daniels was half empty.

I sat in my living room, staring blankly at the TV, once more wondering if I'd be watching an Oz related newscast, focusing on the execution of L2's famous rebel, Duo Maxwell.

"Fifteen year old kids should never be fighting a war." I said aloud. "Dear God, Duo, why didn't you tell me?"

He wasn't there to answer. Only the walls spoke to me with defiant silence.

After all, I kicked him out.

I didn't even give him a chance to explain. I supposed Lance and his buddies spooked me more than I thought.

For in reality, I was still very uneasy about my new position, perhaps even gutless about assisting those who needed freedom in the war.

Was that it? Was I afraid of getting caught by the authorities and punished if I got involved?

My hand hovered over the bottle of booze, then clenched in a fist.

I was a coward.

And Duo, he was too well mannered, despite his gruff outlook on life, to tell me.

In a surge of anger, I grabbed the bottle and shattered it against the wall. As an Oz officer, I stood by and murdered innocent people, telling myself it was ok, because the authorities thought it wasn't a loss (I wouldn't get myself in prison right?). But when it came to protecting a man who was fighting a private war against them, the murderers who killed innocents, I ran away. Yes, I refused to help Duo in his endeavors because, in my eyes, the authorities would frown upon it.

Didn't I want to support the rebels' cause?

So, there were bodies in my closet. But this was a war, and ugly things happened in war.

Frustrated, I shook my head.

"Hilde Shernberker, you should never drink. You always regret the stuff you do in the morning." Carefully, I came to a stand and staggered across the room and into the hall. Moments later, I found my coat.

"Fuck the Curfew."

Duo needed me.

It was raining.

How ironic. Still, the cold droplets stung my system like stabs of ice, sobering me up rather quickly. I wasn't sure what I was doing or why, nor did I know where I was going. What I did know was that I had to find Duo before he got himself tangled up in something he didn't want.

In reality, Mr. Maxwell was a good kid, and I believed in him. Ok, the bodies in my closet were suspicious, but I wanted to give him a chance to come clean to me. Unfortunately, in the circles he traveled in. I was sure I'd never see him again.

Yet, despite the odds, I was determined. Duo Maxwell deserved a chance to have choices. With me, he was free to make them, but with men like Mr. Lance...

Alight, perhaps he wasn't the helpless victim I was labeling him as, but every man makes mistakes and I didn't want Duo messing up in front of Lance.

Shortly after Duo split, I did a check on Lance. He was a real fanatic and very dangerous. Unlike Duo, Lance would have shot me for just knowing who and what he was.

Pulling the lapels of my coat closer to keep the bitter bite of the night away from my bare throat, I made my way to the darker, seedier part of town. If my hunch was right, Lance and his buddies were watching my place and picked Duo up the instant he left me. Without much left in him (due to the fact that I crushed his little homicidal world), Duo would go with them, reflecting he was among fellow killers.

He belonged with the damned.

But I didn't believe it for an instant. Despite the hellish, personal press Duo condemned himself with, I saw someone else. What I saw was a noble, hurt little boy who only wanted to grow up happily in a church with his adopted parents, Sister Helen and Father Maxwell.

Duo would sell his soul to return to those days.

Vengeance was just the delusion he hid his hurt in.

I turned the corner and paused, watching the street walk sign blink a blood red warning not to cross the street.

This side of town was run down and many of the buildings were abandoned or decaying. I noted several hookers on the corner and a few pimps attempting to shuffle off a few of their gals to various individuals wandering the streets in search of lively, illicit night life.

And boy, with the amount of porn theaters and sex parlors, there was a lot of night life.

I winced, recalling some of Duo's scarring, and crossed the street, glad I had my own pistol in my coat pocket.

"Damn it, Duo! Why the hell can't you leave some sort of clue to where you've gone?!" I asked more to myself than anyone else.

Then it came to me.

Duo was loaded with track marks. He was an avid drug user, claiming it was his only outlet for the distraught he felt during the war. I deliberately ignored it, especially since he halted the habit while staying with me.

But now, I was sure, he was trying to escape, and men like Lance, who wanted something from him, wouldn't care what he did as long as it got them what they wanted.

With a deep breath, I made a quick and painful decision.

I'd hound the dealers. Eventually, they'd give me the info I needed. That is, if I played Oz MP. And if not, Lance would come to kill me. I could guarantee he'd be in for a rude little surprise, especially if I was ready for him.

Either way, it brought me closer to Duo. I just hoped it wouldn't be too late.


	6. Chapter 6

Apparently, Duo Maxwell made drug dealers very nervous. No one was willing to sell to him, or even talk about him. The only things I could ascertain was the boy had his own private stash, inherited from one of his previous pushers.

That is, after he offed the guy.

My angel was a devil.

I'm sure Duo had his reasons, but unfortunately it didn't bring me any closer to him.

I cursed to myself and by dawn, shuffled back home to my warm bed.

I'd continue to search for Duo after I rested, for right now, I was in no condition to be his paper bag princess.

The sun blazed pink and orange light across my walkway as I jiggled my keys in the lock.

"Hilde..." The voice was weak and disjointed as if intoxicated with a mixture of grief and poisoning chemicals. "You tossed me out. Why not just leave it be..."

I turned to see him, silhouetted in the bleeding shadows. He wore a black priest's outfit with his battered cap pulled over just so I barely saw the whites of his eyes. There was no Duo. Only death stared back at me. "I was worried." I said, feeling too stupid and to worn out to care. "I wasn't fair to you."

"Not fair?" He said waving a hand bitterly. "I wasn't fair to you! For the love of God, you were right Hilde. I'm no good! I'm a bum, a killer, a crazy SOB...You don't need a guy like me messing up your life. I'm not prince charming. I'm Shinigami... Let me go before I kill you too."

Again, he protected me. I felt my heart thump painfully into my chest as my nerves began to fire with fear and grief at the same time. "Yeah, I'm not deluding myself here Mr. Duo Maxwell. I know you're an asshole." My hand slipped on the key and inadvertently pushed the door of my house wide open. "But you're still fighting a war. I guess I got cold feet. I had no right to put you in a position that made you dishonest to me."

"I was protecting you." He whispered. "I didn't want you involved... "

I pursed my lips, then half smirked. A tear trickled from my eye. "I know that Duo, but I don't need to be protected. I agreed to be with you because I wanted to become a part of your battle... The battle for freedom. I just didn't know how..." Unconsciously, I wiped away the tear and heaved in a sob. "You don't want to do what you're doing? Do you?"

Shaking, he looked away. I caught the glimmer of a single tear on his face. "Hilde..."

"I assume you found Lance and he took you to your dope right?" I asked, worry rimming my words. "Right?"

He shrugged. "No, I took me to the drugs, but yeah, I saw Lance. They want me to fight."

"On their terms, right?" I bunched fists, knowing he was cornered, but in the pain he was in, he didn't care.

"Yeah, their terms." Duo rubbed his arms, insecure. I had him trapped and was quickly battering down his defenses. Not that it was difficult, stoned as he was. "It's no big deal, Hilde, and it's no longer a part of your life. Forget me."

Annoyed at his gentlemanly insistence I stay out of his self-destructive affairs, I approached him and took his arm.

The death in his gaze turned into loss and surprise.

"I can't. You're like a roach I can't kill. Come home, Duo. If you fight, it's because you want to and you're ready to. And if you fight for anyone, it's on our terms. We're partners right?"

Dumb, he nodded. Long tangled hair slipping from his loose unkempt braid. "I guess..."

"So, what is it they want?"

"My partner, the Death Scythe."

The Gundam. My mouth went dry and it was my turn to gape. I saw Oz destroy it on live television. "That's why you killed those soldiers. They saw it, didn't they?" It made sense now, he was protecting himself and his weapon.

Weakly he shrugged. "I'm death. All those who see death die, right?"

We sat in the kitchen, well past the artificial sunrise, and enjoyed the quiet whizzing and whirling of my coffee maker. I made breakfast, eggs again, knowing Duo would not turn them down, even if he was riding high on some substance I couldn't name.

In the end, he was just a kid in trouble, a kid I felt duty bound to help.

I broke the silence with a tiny laugh, and slid two eggs, sunny side up, onto his plate, then sat down with a cup of coffee. "I'm only two years older than you Duo." I said, leaning on the table. "And I keep on thinking of you as a kid. But, I'm more of a child than you." Sighing, I looked to the window. "How did I get so arrogant?"

He swirled five teaspoons of sugar and a heap of cream into his coffee. "Don't know, Hilde. Funny thing is, I keep on calling you kid in my thoughts. So we're even." Our gazes met, and this time he chuckled. "If I were a gal, I'd be you. You know that, Hilde?"

"Vise a versa." I smiled weakly, thankful for the small talk. Perhaps he was feeling a little better.

The coffee was good, and together we sipped, looking deep into each other's eyes. I felt incredibly comfortable with him. It was as if he were an extension of myself. I sighed, blowing into my cup and rippling the soft brown liquid. Duo was the first person to accept me for who and what I was. He saw the me inside, not the me on the outside.

The me I pretended to be.

But then again, I saw him for what he was. "Have you ever thought they had families? The guys in my closet, I mean?"

He dropped his face and fingered his fork. "All the time. How about you? You ever kill anyone?"

"Civilians, kids in a protest. Same difference Mr. Maxwell, except I was given a medal for it. It wasn't in self defense." I leaned over and touched his shoulder, feeling taut, stiff muscles. He must have been sore.

"I didn't do it in self defense." Duo countered honestly. His broken voice edged with anguish and guilt. "I saw them practicing, minding their own business, and I kept thinking about the massacre. So I killed them. I lost it and killed them." He lifted his head and ran his hand though his hair, pulling strands as he went. "What got into me? I kept thinking about stealing their suits and how if they were dead, they wouldn't miss them..." With a disappearing sob, he dropped his face to the table and began to pound his fist. "I'm a murderer and I hate it. Why couldn't I be like Father Maxwell? When will I forget the hate and live my life again?"

He was a victim of the war and trapped on a one way road with nowhere to go but down.

Strange, he was just as trapped as I was, when working with Oz. I reflected back on the massacre and the medal I had received. I lied to myself for months that it was justified. Why would they give me a medal if it wasn't. But in the end, I knew it was wrong. Just like Duo knew it was wrong to kill for salvage. But like I was caught up in loyalties for the service, he was caught up in the habits of war. We both lost our consciences in the heat of the moment and became the very villains we despised.

It made me realize how much he needed me and how much I needed him. We were siblings baptized in the blood of others.

"Neither one of us are perfect, Duo." I said, voice shaking. He lifted his gaze so his eyes peeked over his folded arms, listening. "But we can start changing by thinking about what we're doing and only fighting when we know the cause is just, and in the best interest of others." I tickled the top of his head, admiring the silky hair as it caressed my hand. "But until then, you have to heal."

"And Mr. Lance? You don't seem so happy about him."

"No, I don't like him, but if he helps us find our purpose in this war, then let it be. But only when you're ready, Duo. I don't want to see you lose yourself or your innocence to him. The right cause will happen, and when it does, you won't have to lie to yourself about it."


	7. Chapter 7

Epilogue

Weeks passed, and together we kept Mr. Lance and his buddies at bay. It appeared, since Duo had the Death Scythe, they didn't want to anger him. They were also afraid of him.

Which made me feel a lot better. In the end, we worked on the company. Duo warded off Lance's whines and pleas and we were happy.

No, we never kissed. We never touched. We were friends, even though I longed for more. He didn't seem the sort to make attachments and I was rather content with that.

Our lives were threatened once when my former colleagues from Oz took him to test pilot a new mobile suit. He never talked about it, only that it was a hell of a weapon, if you could control it.

Yet, I knew by the way he trembled and huddled, wrapped in blankets on his bed, this Zero system bothered him.

When I inquired, he claimed it would have driven him insane. Then, he drove me out with a very firm, 'leave me alone'.

Afraid I'd cause more damage than good, I stood outside his door that night. I quietly watched him, in the amber glow of the bedroom, as he tightened a tong around his upper arm and shot something clear into his veins.

I cried for him then, sliding down the door, feeling his heavy heart torn at once more, but this time, by the monsters I once saw as heroes.

He never knew when I left, for shortly after his brush with Zero, he vanished, feeling fit enough to put the war to an end with people he claimed to trust.

I let him walk out the door, proud, yet feeling strangely widowed by him. Then, when all was quiet, I slipped away and into my old Oz uniform.

For myself, and my longing conscience, I did the final betrayal. I stole information concerning one of their most secretive weapons.

The act nearly killed me, and Duo, my angel with a tilted, tarnished halo, came on his blackened steed and dispatched my enemies with little effort.

We argued, but it was brief. I was in too much pain to fight and tolerated his name calling.

In the end, he was terrified he'd lose me and that was heard well over the curses and stupid woman remarks.

I don't know how long I drifted in and out of consciousness, nor did I know how long it took for the surgeons to put my battered insides together.

The only thing I did know was Duo was there, at my side, when he could be.

And it made the hell I went through well worth it.

The long haired youth sat at my bedside, a battered paperback in his hands, with man and a woman on the cover in a romantic embrace. I scanned the figures in the picture, noting the kilt was hiked up in an alluring position on the fellow's thigh.

Then I sighed, looking at reality, as my very own Romeo read awkwardly from the steamy, sometimes sleazy, novel.

Duo was red faced.

"... And I surrendered to him, my frail and passion weak form sinking into his strong slick arms..." The long haired boy paused, gaze shifting from the text to me. "And you like this trash?"

I nodded, helplessly admiring his muscle-toned arm. He was wearing a green tank top today and leather pants that hugged his hips and ass just right. I had given up on manly Scotsmen along time ago for my wild sexual fantasies and settled for my Duo to daydream about. I smirked and pulled my blankets painfully about my body. Ms. Poe, my physician, told me it would be a week or two before I was out of bed and to take it easy.

Duo took it as his sole mission to make me feel comfortable and even grudgingly partook in indulging my romance novel hobby.

The books were pale compared to the many blushes he gave while flipping through the many erotic scenes. Nonetheless, it was rather valiant of him to even attempt. "I don't know. Sometimes trash is fun."

He grunted and put the book down. "Depends. I suppose it is, if you don't have someone to... well, you know."

Was he implying something I didn't know about? I tilted my head, realizing men often assumed things that women failed to see. Wordlessly, I shrugged.

Duo exhaled, then flipped the book over and pointed to the cover. "Hilde, these guys, they're fake! Look at those muscles, and that face. I don't know any guys who look like that! Then there is that chick, she's phony too..."

"Would it be better if it were a skinny no but guy with long hair and a dykish perky gal with no boobs?" I called his bluff, aware he had already put us together in his mind a long time ago.

Duo flushed and looked away.

"Thought so. " I kindly smiled, happy he took a liking to me. Turnabout is fair play, right? "Well, speak up, Duo. I've never seen you this mute in all the time I've known you."

"Sometimes, dealing with Yuy is easier with dealing with women. Do you, or don't you, want to be my girl?" He questioned firmly, putting his hands on his hips and staring me down.

I sighed, then picked up the book. "Well, just so you know, I often imagine you in that kilt, dear." Then with a flick of the wrist, tossed the novel over my shoulder so it clattered against a nearby wall.

"Not a chance in Hell." He answered back with a smirk. "But we can get creative in other ways, I'm sure."

It was the start of a beautiful relationship.

My parents were going to kill me.

But then again, you can't win them all.

Fin


End file.
